


it ain't a coincidence we're comin together

by siriuslyuptonogood



Series: Good Boys Do Cry [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Dom/sub, Domestic Discipline, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Referenced Spanking of a Child, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22654549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslyuptonogood/pseuds/siriuslyuptonogood
Summary: Two swats across the seat of his pajamas incite what will become a lifelong obsession with spanking for Derek, but one he keeps to himself, not even telling Peter, the one who'd originally delivered those two swats. Because of course, Peter would think there was something wrong with him. That all changes the day Derek walks in on Chris and Peter spanking a third man over the kitchen counter. Now that he knows Peter and Chris are kinky like him, he wants something he cannot have.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Derek Hale/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Derek Hale/Peter Hale
Series: Good Boys Do Cry [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621288
Comments: 16
Kudos: 232





	it ain't a coincidence we're comin together

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the series Good Boys Do Cry and is basically Derek's origin story. 
> 
> It's not technically incest because Peter is adopted, so I didn't tag it, BUT if that squicks you out, here is your warning. 
> 
> I also don't have a beta, so please bear with me if there are any mistakes.

Peter never felt like Derek's uncle. Hated the term. He always said it didn't count anyway because he was adopted. Said he never quite felt like he belonged, though Derek had once heard Talia venting at his father that Peter had no problem taking his inheritance when their parents died. She'd never said it to his face, though. Derek understood why. He was a quiet child usually. He listened. Watched. He understood things. Though he couldn't understand why Peter was so angry. Well, at first. After the fire, he understood too well. And Peter hadn't just lost one set of parents. There had been the first too, whoever they were. Of course, he hurt inside.

Peter was the cause of many things in Derek's life. But one, in particular, was life-changing. Peter was the one who first watered the seed that would eventually grow into Derek's deep-seated need for pain.

It'd happened when Derek was seven and Peter was sixteen. Peter attended an alternative high school, only went once a week and did most of his work independently at home. This meant that when Derek's elementary school called to say they had no electricity and would be canceling school for the day, Peter was the only one who could watch him. Laura had already left, so had his dad, and his mom needed to drop off Cora at daycare on the way to work. Peter begrudgingly agreed.

Derek liked Peter. He wanted to be just like Peter. Desperately wanted Peter to like him. So he spent the morning following him around. He asked a million questions, very unlike him, until Peter, fed up, turned to him and growled, "if you do not leave me be, I'm going to spank you and make you take a nap."

But it didn't stop Derek. Because he'd never gotten a spanking before, but his friend David did, a lot, but never wanted to talk about it. And Derek didn't even know what a spanking was. He got the impression from David that it was not good, that it was scary and a bit mysterious, like something out of Laura's mystery books that she sometimes read out loud to him. Mid-sentence, Peter grabbed him by the arm and swatted him twice, right on the seat of his pajama pants.

Derek let out a startled squeak, eyes filling with tears as he put his hands back to rub his stinging bottom. Peter had hit him.

"I warned you," Peter said, "and don't cry. I barely swatted you. When I would get a spanking, it was on my bare skin. What you got is nothing."

Peter got his wish, though. Derek didn't bother him for the rest of the day. And he never told either. But he also never forgot. And his curiosity steadily grew.

When he was thirteen, Derek had a math teacher, Mr. Lane, who was quite young. He'd recently graduated, and Derek felt hot and weird around him. But he also wanted to impress him so badly. Hadn’t felt like this, not really, since Peter. Just so desperate for this person to like him. One day, he got to school and realized he'd forgotten to do a whole side of his homework sheet and Mr. Lane had looked so disappointed in him. Derek had to try really hard not to cry right there in class. That night he had a dream that Mr. Lane kept him after class, grabbed him by the arm, and spanked him for not doing his homework. He woke up hard and, embarrassed, jerked off in his boxers. He rinsed them off on the shower and hid them in the bottom of his laundry basket.

By fifteen, he understood that he liked guys, though he was scared to actually say it out loud, and he started to look up porn using the search terms "gay" and "spanking". He read everything he could on it. Consumed online stories, porn, and even just articles written on spanking, something that then blossomed into more things, dominance and submission, other types of pain.

Then... the fire happened. Faulty wiring. Laura was off at college. He was staying the night at his friend's house. Suddenly it was just them.

Laura was living in upstate New York at the time, going to a private liberal arts college. Peter was living with his boyfriend Chris Argent in NYC. It made more sense for Derek to go there. So, he did. He didn't want to start a new high school and started going to an online school. He missed his friends, his home, his family. But for the first time, Derek and Peter bonded. They'd both lost so much and finally had common ground between them.

Derek had thought about that moment with Peter so many years before a thousand times. Sometimes, he pretended to be older in chatrooms and talked to doms. He told a version of the story with Peter at times when they asked about his first experience with spanking, which they usually did. The story was mostly true. Just with embellishments to make the spanking seem more severe than it had been.

He never brought it up with Peter though. It seemed wrong. Like that was a line he could not cross. Besides, what would Peter think about him when he knew how Derek had perverted two swats to the seat of his pajamas ten years before? Peter would think he was disgusting; Derek just knew it.

Derek finished high school a year early and started going to university. It was refreshing to be doing so much outside the apartment. Peter and Chris had tried to get him out, succeeded even, but both worked. Derek spent a lot of time alone.

One Thursday, when a three-hour seminar class was canceled, Derek got to head home early. With no classes on Fridays, he was excited about his weekend. Chris' daughter Allison, who was four years younger than Derek, was with her mom, so they had planned a guy’s night.

When he got home, he hung up his coat, put his shoes on the shoe rack and headed in socked feet to the kitchen, headphones still plugged into his iPod and in his ears, turned up loud. He didn't hear anything but stopped short when he saw the scene in the kitchen.

Peter and Chris, both shirtless. There was a young man laid naked across the marble island, hands cuffed behind his back and legs kicking as Peter spanked his ass and thighs with a wooden spatula.

It took Derek a few seconds to process what he was seeing, but then he turned and walked back to the entry hall. Shoes and coat on, he had never even had a chance to put his bag down, he left the apartment very quietly. He caught the subway, heading back to campus to study in the library. He couldn't help but replay the scene in his head, quickly moving his bag to set in his lap. God. Peter was into BDSM? He'd been the one spanking the man while Chris held his head, fingers curled tight into his hair.

Derek imagined it was him, how it would feel. He'd done some self spanking over the years, but he wanted to know what it felt like with someone else.

Derek had to bite his lip from moaning as he imagined himself on the counter. He let out a surprised sound as he came in his jeans. A woman glared at him and his face burned, but he just looked down at his hands.

He didn't get up at his stop. He rode until the end of the line, then rode back, feeling gross, damp, uncomfortable, and incredibly embarrassed.

He walked in the door at about his usual time, repeated his actions of shoes and coat just like before, and called out that he was home. Had a lot of homework. He went straight for his bedroom and his bathroom. He jerked off in the shower, still imagining the feeling of that spatula against his ass, his shame white-hot. He feigned a headache and went to bed after dinner, ignoring the disappointed look at Peter's face. He just couldn't. 

A few weeks later when Chris was away for the weekend and Peter had a dinner party until late, Derek pushed his pajama bottoms and briefs down in the kitchen, grabbed the wooden spatula, and leaned over the counter. He spanked himself, but not enough, then jerked off. He felt guilty, ashamed. He put the spatula in the dishwasher and scrubbed the whole kitchen top to bottom. Peter had taken him out to a nice breakfast to say thank you in the morning, but Derek didn't feel like he'd done anything thankworthy.

He spanked himself when he could. It took the edge off but made him feel shameful all the same. Still, Derek bought himself a wooden bath brush for his eighteenth birthday.

He planned it. Peter had work until six. He'd get Chris on the way home and they'd be home about six-thirty and then they had dinner reservations at Derek's favorite restaurant. He would be home just after two. That leftover four hours for him to give himself the birthday spanking he'd been planning for weeks.

It felt different this time. He'd been talking to a dominant online. One who was willing to give him written instructions. And he had done so with the expectation that he'd get pictures of the aftermath. Derek printed the document early in the week and had read it so many times, he knew every word.

He needed to shower first, then he had five minutes in the corner. Not as punishment, just to settle his mind. Derek had procured an egg timer at the same time as the bath brush, from a Bed, Bath, and Beyond, the most overwhelming store he'd ever been into, made even more so by the fact that he'd been instructed to whack himself on the thigh to see how the brush felt.

After the corner time, where Derek stood, feet shoulder's width apart, his fingers threaded over top of his head, he moved to the bed. Two pillows under his hips, five full minutes of hand spanking (trusty egg timer for the win) and then he would pick up the bath brush and deliver 18 hard swats. In the end, one, as hard as he possibly could. To grow on, obviously.

Well, he got through the first two parts fairly well. His arms were sore, both from being on top of his head for five minutes and the hand spanking. He felt delightfully warm. His dick was hard. And then he picked up the brush and it didn't feel at all like what he'd pictured. Underwhelming. He couldn't get the right angle, or maybe he just pulled his punches, unable to actually hurt himself how he needed, but he'd let out a frustrated almost sob. He tried again and dropped the brush, hearing it clatter on the floor. He buried his head in his arms, wanting to scream.

"You know," said a voice from the doorway. Derek's head shot up and he looked back, Peter. He should have moved, have covered himself up, but he was frozen, just looking at Peter who walked across the room, crouched, and picked the brush up off the floor.

"This is a much more effective tool in someone else's hand."

Derek let out a soft, whining sound at that and then, shocking himself, he whispered. "Peter, please. Please spank me."

Peter faltered. Fingers flexing around the handle. "Derek, I can't. It's not right. You're... you're Talia's kid."

Derek's breath hitched. "It's my birthday," he whined, "and I've been good."

That made Peter's eyes widen a little as he rubbed the flat of the brush against his other palm. "Do good boys spank themselves alone in their bedrooms?" He asked and got a whine in response. 

"But my birthday," Derek breathed.

"Kid..."

"Not a kid. Eighteen. Today." Derek's tone was fierce. "And you never felt like my uncle anyway, right? Said so yourself. This isn't bad. And I want it. Please, Peter. Please spank me."

Peter let out a shuddering breath and leaned forward fingers ghosting over Derek's pink skin.

"Well, a pretty boy like you shouldn't have to go without a proper birthday spanking, huh?"

"No, please. God, thank you, Peter."

Peter moved forward. He pressed one hand to the small of Derek's back and tapped the brush against his ass.

The first stroke took Derek's breath away. His whole body lurched forward. It was sharp at first, then a burn set in. The smacks, the hotter the burn, until Derek was squirming and crying out, the pain almost too much.

"Hold still," Peter said, putting pressure on the small of Derek's back.

And he did. Because he wanted to do what Peter said. The thought of messing that up made him want to cry. Derek clenched his fist in the bedsheets and shouted and howled each time the brush made contact, but he didn't fucking move.

"Last one, sweetheart, you've done so well," Peter murmured and Derek could have cried at that too. He did cry a little as the brush came down for the nineteenth time, searing across his skin. He'd always pictured that he'd be sobbing at the end of a spanking. But he wasn't. A few tears. And all hint of arousal gone too, his dick soft between his thighs. He felt warm. He felt like he'd left his body and was floating around having a fucking great time. When Peter laid next to him on the bed, wrapping his arms around him, he felt safe. It took him a long time, at least in his head anyway, to be able to focus on Peter at all, to realize he was talking. He blinked at him a few times.

"You are a good boy," Peter said stroking the side of his face, "you know I love you, right Derek? I know I've said what I've said, but I love you."

And that was what made Derek cry. Like something had broken inside of him and everything had come whooshing out. Laura said she loved him when they talked. But it was on the phone. Or she'd shout it as she was leaving, but Peter was here, Peter was looking at him and telling him that he loved him. He hadn't felt like this, not really since the fire. So truly and utterly loved. And it made him weep. Only weeping sounds beautiful and poetic. What Derek did was loud and wet and full of snot and whimpers as he clung to Peter.

When he'd calmed down, Peter had this amused look on his face. "I just beat your ass raw, but saying I love you is what makes you cry? Silly boy."

Derek couldn't figure out how to form words. And at some point, he fell asleep. He woke up to Peter stroking his face. 

"Hey, birthday boy. I have to go get Chris. Wash your face and get dressed for dinner, okay?"

Derek nodded. He laid on his bed for a while after Peter left but did eventually get up to go to the bathroom. He turned to look at his ass in the mirror. It was a couple of shades of red. His whole ass. Peter had left his thighs alone. He knew from reading that where the ass met the thigh was a very tender spot to spank, felt a lot of weight when sitting. He was a little disappointed to see it pale, but he was grateful overall. He washed his face and went out to get dressed. Pulling his briefs on was painful, but in a good way, his slacks easier, and the nice shirt and jacket over top of it, didn't matter at all.

He hissed when he tried to sit at his desk and took his computer to the bed, laying on his stomach. A notification from his instant messenger blinked and Derek clicked it. His dom friend, asking how it went. He thought about telling the truth. About Peter, but he only told half the truth instead. _Lost my nerve and couldn't handle the brush. Sorry to let you down_. The reply came fast. _No, no. Didn't let anybody down. This can be a lot at first. Maybe next time it will be better. Happy Birthday, kid._

Derek sent thanks and a smiley. He heard the front door open and he closed his laptop, heading out. But he stopped short. Chris looked mad. Peter had a look Derek couldn't place like he was about to yell when he saw Derek standing there and dropped it.

Chris turned to him with an unreadable face of his own, then forced a smile. He hugged Derek.

"Happy Birthday, kiddo. Soon as I shower and change, we can head out."

Derek just nodded. Peter didn't look at him and followed Chris, disappearing into the room. Inside a door slammed. Closet, bathroom, Derek didn't know. He retreated back to his side of the apartment, the living room and kitchen between him and the master bedroom. He shoved the brush into his closet. He ripped up the paper with his instructions, and suddenly the warm, good, wonderful way he was feeling before was gone. He'd fucked up.

Dinner sucked. The food was good, but Chris was stilted the whole time, Peter would barely look at him, plus Derek hurt. And every shift reminded him that he'd done something terrible. That he'd ruined everything. What sucked the most was that he'd fucked things up between Peter and Chris. Chris was Peter's whole world, the love of his life. It would crush him to lose Chris.

He slid into the back of the car and was quiet on the way home. It wasn't until they were in the parking garage under the building and his belt was unbuckled so he could make a quick escape that Derek said, "I'm sorry I ruined everything."

But before he could actually get the door open, the locks clicked and Chris unbuckled his belt, turning to look at Derek.

"You didn't ruin anything. It's... just... we should have talked about it. And you're... you're so young, Derek. And our nephew. It's natural to want this. Completely okay and we support you, but... I'm not sure Peter made the right choice this afternoon."

Peter made a soft sound, remorseful, and looked out the window.

Derek looked down at his hands. "I asked for it."

"I know. I know that I do. But this is all very complicated. I'm sorry that it's dampened your birthday. How about we head in, you can open presents before cake, then we can watch a movie?"

Derek dropped his shoulders. "Can I open presents in the morning? I'm pretty tired."

"Sure thing, kiddo. And we can have cake for breakfast," Chris said. He unlocked the doors.

"Night," Derek said as he climbed out of the car. The two men didn't follow him immediately. Derek was in his pajamas, curled up in bed when he heard the front door open. He cried himself to sleep.

The mood was better in the morning. Chris touched Peter every chance he got. He kissed his shoulders, touched his back as he passed by, ruffled his hair. The way he usually was. Maybe even more so. Derek noticed how Peter winced when he sat down after putting a plate of toast and eggs in front of him, and after that, he was pulled into Chris' lap, laughing.

They didn't mention the day before. Just presents, a new tv and the newest PlayStation for his bedroom, and then cake. They spent the day in their pajamas watching movies. They ordered Chinese take-out.

After that, Peter was different with him. Simultaneously closer and further away. He told Derek that he loved him. Often. Hugged him. Made sure he knew. But all traces of any playful teasing were gone. Derek loved feeling loved. But he missed the smirk Peter got when he teased Derek. He figured he could live with it. He didn't want to lose either of the men. And he didn't want to jeopardize their relationship with each other.

Except now Derek had a taste and just wanted. He wanted Peter and Chris. Wanted to be that boy on the counter.

He met Doms online. Played online. It wasn't enough. He started to push a little at home. Stopped putting his shoes where they belonged. Left his bag on the floor, his coat on the back of the couch. But neither Peter nor Chris ever rose to it. He got more and more frustrated. He was angrier. Less pleasant to be around. Snappy.

It came to a head on a Saturday almost nine months after Derek’s 18th birthday. He was meant to be gone all day, shopping with his friends and then going to a concert that evening. But he wasn't feeling it and he bowed out after only a few hours. He went home, left his shoes in the middle of the entryway, dropped his coat right next to the closet, and stopped. Peter, Chris, a skinny blonde. His ass, thighs, part of his back were all red. And Chris had something long and thin in his hand while Peter had a small, brush-like paddle. They were all three faced away from him, the stranger splayed up over the arm of the couch. Derek felt hot. He went to his room and pulled open his laptop. He opened up a message from a Dom he'd been flirting. The guy had been pushing all week to get him to meet him at a club that Derek was too young to get in to. The guy was online and seemed ecstatic when Derek said yes, highlighting all the ways he wanted to hurt him after the club when he could take him back to his place. Derek didn't even bother to close his laptop. He slid his shoes back on, bundled his coat under his arm and slammed the door as loud as he could on the way out. Fuck them. They didn't need him, huh? Well, he didn't need them either.

He didn't make it to the club. Thought better of it. If he got picked up for underage drinking, it could get him kicked out of his honor society. He'd worked fucking hard to be there. Maintained the 4.0. Kept his nose clean. It wasn't worth his anger to wreck that. Especially when that applicants from that society had one of the highest acceptance rates into the private law school he was desperate to attend. He needed a clean record too if he was going to be a district attorney someday. He had enough Hale money to buy his way into any school, any position, but he wanted to do it right. Meant something to him.

He wandered a while. He ended up seeing two movies, then went to an all-night diner by his university about a quarter to midnight. He was supposed to be home. Probably eleven but definitely by midnight was what he'd told Chris that morning. He was an adult, but he hated to make them worry about him. Because they would.

Derek was still mad enough that he ordered food at 11:59. He could imagine them, as always, curled up on the living room couch, watching whatever was on. They just liked to be there. To make sure he got home safe before they went to bed.

To Peter's credit, he didn't call until ten after. Derek let it vibrate through. Chris called next. It wasn't until Peter's third call that Derek deflated. He knew they were worried. And he knew he was being an asshole. But he was hurt. It felt like he'd been flayed open and left to get crusty. Rejected. He had been rejected. Logically, he knew there was more to it, but the feeling in his chest said that he wasn't wanted. He wasn't good enough for them.

He ate the food he'd ordered. Slowly. It tasted bad in his mouth. He usually loved to get chicken strips and fries from this place, and he knew that the problem wasn't the night chef. He paid by dropping a twenty on the table for his eight-dollar meal and left. He threw up everything out of his stomach two blocks later. And then he just felt empty and sad.

It was after two when he finally got home. He was quiet. He hung his coat up like he knew he was supposed to. He put his shoes in their rightful spot. He took a few deep breaths then made the short trek to the living room. The lights were low but there they were watching him, sitting pressed side by side, each with one set of fingers entwined and resting on Chris' thigh.

"Are you hurt?" Peter asked.

Not physically, Derek thought, but he shook his head.

"Phone dead? Broken? Somehow not functioning?" asked Chris.

Another quick shake of his head.

Peter pulled his hand from Chris' and sat forward. "Then why the hell are you more than two hours late? No fucking call? We have been so worried."

It's then that Derek noticed his laptop sitting on the coffee table. His anger returned quickly.

"Were you snooping in my shit?" He snarled.

"Watch your tone," Chris said, "you are under my roof using the electricity I pay for on a laptop I bought you. I'm not going to feel bad about this, Derek. Especially when you left it open, the stupid shit you're planning to do there for the world to see."

"Why would you do something so fucking stupid, Derek? That club? Do you even have any clue who that guy is? You could have gotten in serious trouble. Or worse, hurt." Peter shoved himself to his feet and Derek was so mad that he could have hit him right then. Punched him right in his damn face.

Peter must have seen the intent because he stepped forward, right in Derek's face. "Punching me isn't going to make you feel better. Or make what you'd done anything less fucking idiotic." 

Derek stood taller than Peter. Had more mass than Peter. He could destroy him, but something inside wanted him to just drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. But he couldn’t. Or maybe he wouldn’t.

He looked Peter right in the eyes and said, "why do you give a shit? Isn't there a pretty blond twink somewhere for you to give your attention to?"

As soon as was out, Derek couldn’t suck it back in, no matter how hard he tried. Because that was it then. All his cards were there all the table. They knew now that he absolutely brimmed with hulking, ugly jealousy. That he was pathetic. They'd never want him after that.

But when his eyes flickered to Peter's face, he didn't see disgust or pity even, but a flash of hurt buried inside a whole lot of disappointment. And that was a whole lot fucking worse.

"Go change into your pajamas, Derek," Chris said, the first sound after a too-long silence, "and then go to the master bedroom. Stand in the corner. You'll know where."

But Derek didn't move. Wasn’t sure he could. He swallowed.

"Do as you're told," Peter said and the crack in his voice broke the freeze on Derek’s body. He almost stumbled as he left the room. He shook as he changed into a big t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants and then he walked through the kitchen to get into the master bedroom. The corner was obvious. The only truly empty spot in the room. The opposite other corner had an armchair that was probably big enough for both Peter and Chris. One corner by the door out. One between the walk-in closet and bathroom. But that one was meant to be stood in. And Derek did. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He started out with his fingers laced over the top of his head, but then he was hit with a sudden wave of shame and guilt and his legs collapsed underneath him. He still faced the corner, but he was curled up, sobbing. He knew he was supposed to be standing, that's what Chris said, but his legs wouldn't work and that just made him cry harder. He'd ruined everything. He'd be punished. Or maybe not. Maybe they'd made him wait so they could tell him he had to go. That he could stay the night, but in the morning, he had to leave. And maybe Peter would hug him one more time. But he shouldn't tell Derek he loves him because Derek doesn’t deserve that.

Arms around him, slid under his own, wrapped around his ribcage. He rose to his feet, but supported, just held until he stopped shaking until he was able to stand again. The body pulled back, then tugged Derek's arms a little, rearranging his limbs so he stood with both hands behind his back, resting just over the swell of his ass.

"Just like this, that's it, good boy," Chris murmured.

"Peter?" Derek asked quietly.

"He'll be here in just a bit. Can you stay like this for a minute?"

Derek nodded, focusing on just that, on standing upright, on staying in the corner with his hands behind his back.

After what seemed like much longer than a minute, Chris gripped his arms and turned him until they were face to face.

"There's a lot of things eating you up inside right now aren't there?"

Derek nodded.

"Can you tell me about them?" Chris asked, leading him to the bed. And he was so gentle. Derek had been so awful. For months. He didn't deserve gentle.

"Want to be the boy on the counter," Derek said quietly.

"The boy on the counter," Chris repeated, watching him for a few seconds before his eyes widened. "Oh."

"But... but I'm not right. Not a good enough boy. Mucked everything up on my birthday. Peter will hardly smile at me anymore. I didn't mean to wreck it all," Derek mumbled.

"Derek, honey," Chris said with a pained sound, "you are a plenty good enough boy. You are an absolute delight. And... you didn't wreck a thing... it's just very-"

"Complicated," Peter said from the door. He crossed over and sat on Chris' other side. But he reached out and gently squeezed Derek's knee.

"Been so bad," Derek said not looking at either of them. "Shoes. Coat. Fighting. Mean words."

Chris pressed a single crooked finger under Derek's chin, lifting it.

"Poorly behaved. Not bad. Very bratty, but not bad. Never bad."

Tears slipped down Derek's cheeks.

"We have a lot more to talk about tomorrow and the next day and a lot of days to come," Peter said. "But for now, we are going to wipe the slate clean."

Chris was much strong than expected, and Derek found himself in the middle of the bed. Peter climbed on, pulling Derek's head to rest on his lap.

"This is going to hurt a lot, sweetheart," Peter said, "Chris is going to start with his hand, then a paddle, and that's for the bratting the last couple months and for being late tonight. He will finish with ten strokes with his belt and that is for putting yourself into danger, okay?"

"Didn't go," Derek mumbled.

"I know."

"Y'Do?"

"Yep. He left a lot of messages when you didn't show up. Angry ones. I blocked him. He is not a good guy, could have really hurt you. So even though we are very proud you didn't go, you never get to think that's okay ever again. Understood?"

Derek nodded. Peter pinched his jaw.

"Yes, sir," Peter prompted.

Derek's breath hitched, but he repeated it. Then he felt his pajama pants and briefs come down.

The spanking started hard and fast. It left Derek breathless. He wasn't sure if it hurt more because of Chris or because of how he felt, but he sobbed quickly, gripping at the fabric of Peter's pajamas.

The paddle made him kick and squirm, but two hard swats to where ass met thigh and a "stay still" from Chris made him freeze. He could be a good boy. He could.

Nothing could have prepared him for how the leather felt. He was holding on for dear life to Peter, his head buried deep in his lap. He didn't move, but he howled and he cried. His whole body shook.

He didn't know it stopped until he felt the brush of fabric pulled up over his skin. He let out a smattering of incoherent words and clung to Peter. There was moving. He sobbed. Eyes closed; when he opened them again, he was bracketed between Peter and Chris.

"Such a good boy for us," Chris murmured. He kissed his forehead. Peter nuzzled his neck.

He fell into a deep and dreamless sleep in minutes.

Two weeks later, Derek took thirty strokes of Chris' belt just because he'd asked so prettily and didn't shed a tear. He resurfaced from subspace an hour later, hardly able to move, and was all smiles.

When Peter used just the spoon and spent his time telling him how loved he was, how amazing and wonderful and good he was, Derek cried until he was sobbing dry, no tears left.

When, a year later, Chris became Daddy and put his little boy over his knee and gave him ten swats on his bare bottom with his hand, Derek cried so hard he got hiccups and wouldn't let Daddy let go of him to make dinner until Papa came home and could hold him. Derek got to eat pizza while sitting on Papa's lap and watching a movie that night.

And on Derek's twenty-fifth birthday, when they took him to a club and gave him a full set of birthday spankings each with a hand, paddle, bath brush (which was only pulled out for birthday spankings), Chris' belt, riding crop, and Peter's favorite cane, he'd laughed through the first two, then whined and begged right up until the cane cut across the tops of his thighs and he fell so hard into subspace that he couldn't remember his own name.

Peter said often that he could make Derek cry with a look, two words, and a snap. And he had many times. But he also loved that those tears weren't for everybody. They were private, special. For Chris and Peter. For Derek. Theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hit me up, siriuslyuptonogood on Tumblr.  
> I don't reply to a lot of comments, but if you ask me a question on any of my fics that isn't about when I'll update next, I do try to answer them! But I also do read ALL the comments and they make me feel so good. :)


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